All of the Immediate Unknowns
by eden alice
Summary: 'She wears the dark well' Paul's continued controlling and distant ways drives the people closest to him together.
1. Chapter 1

**Written at the end of two days without sleep as sun raised and the birds sang. The rating will go up for the next chapter due to scenes of a sexual nature and continued crudeness. If you happen to take a few minuets to review I will love you forever.**

* * *

All of the Immediate Unknowns

(are better than knowing this tired and lonely fate)

The dreams never seem to happen for a particular reason, a pattern he can understand and start to prepare himself for. It wasn't as if they only took place on the anniversary or when his nephew eventually started asking questions about his father. It is not even like Liam ever forgets and stops thinking about what happened. It's not like he thinks he deserves to ever forget or find some kind of absolution.

The dreams are never a surprise even when they are rare because he had resolved himself to carrying it with him such a long time ago. It was just that sometimes he did not think he was strong enough for the constant bombardment, thinks that he is weak and that he wants to share the weight of his crimes. But Paul won't hear a word about what happened and no one else sees beyond that laid back easy charm. He always thought of himself as a simple bloke and yet so much of his life was built upon lies and complications.

And so it was the same fucking dream night after night, always the one where he wakes up with his chest desperately heaving for air and his mouth bitter from bile. But the images are memories and they never fade or dilute during the waking hours. He doesn't think that his imagination could conger up something as vile as the image of the way his best friend's neck had twisted at such an unnaturally violent angle.

How Dean's eyes had still been open and staring and Liam had wanted to close them like they did in films but Paul would not let him. His brother had been controlling, his panic restricted to short, efficient bursts of practicality. His eyes dark and cold while Liam had shook and cried and wiped away at snot like some pathetic toddler.

All he'd been able to think at the time was that he was sorry. Maybe it was the alcohol slowing his reactions, making it feel like he was walking through sand, but he had not been begging forgiveness just yet. It had been the same thought over and over again like a broken record '_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Oh fuck I'm so sorry.'_

So he had nodded mutely at Paul's frantic rationalizing and helped move the dead weight of his friend to the driver's seat. Sitting him up like a man condemned upon a twisted throne coated with broken glass. He had still been warm and if it was not for the empty stare and broken bones Dean might have seemed peaceful.

Liam remembers time and time again how Paul had talked and swore'_fucking hell, fuck, shit, shitshitshit, stupid cunt, I can't fuck go to jail.' _How he had shouted till Liam had jumped and swallowed before moving to numbly carry out his orders. Because Paul had always known what to do. Because he had always needed his big brothers approval. The same big brother who had him bent over and wheezing at the pain in his side and had caused the head wound and the blood slowly dropped down into his left eye and stinging. The same brother who had killed their friend. Their fucking brother in law, but Paul had given him a way out, a way of carrying on. The world had not imploded from all the shame but it remained inside him, slowly eating away at his insides like a cancer darkening his lungs.

And he had wanted to say sorry to Michelle when she rushed into the hospital already trembling. To little Ryan who didn't fully understand (probably never would) but whose face already held an uncomfortable darkness that was beyond his youth.

At the funeral he had wanted to make sure both God and Dean knew. Wanted to make sure he wasn't going to hell. And then he was terribly sorry for his selfishness but he was still so scared and he had just wanted to live. Liam had begged that day, he had fallen to his knees in desperation and questioned the existence of a higher being. He just wanted to stand by his brother and he did not think he could live through seeing the look of disappointment on his mother's face if she knew the truth.

That night (or maybe it was the early hours of the next day, time had seemed to stop and stretch that night) his mother had been like a tornado pushing nurses aside to get to her son. She had held him close like she hadn't done since he was five and had tried to run across a busy road. She had held him to her chest and cried hysterically as she stroked his too long hair and he had still felt frozen under the unmoving emptiness of Dean's open eyes.

And he had been sorry every day since but Paul would never talk about it. Paul would go into dark, silently sullen moods and have sudden eruptions of violence. Paul that would disappear for days or weeks and shower the bereaved in expensive gifts and refuse to face the truth. All Liam wanted was to find some solace in the only other person who understands what it felt like to carry this terrible secret.

But it was as if Paul did not feel or care. So while Liam woke from flashbacks that always started ten seconds before the impact (sometimes he counts down, one Mississippi…and then the deafening blast followed by painful silence). Liam remembered the way Paul's eyes had looked that night, the way his brother had took him by the shoulders. How the touch had been the only warm comfort he had allowed and even then Paul had dug his fingers in a little too tight and shook him a little to make sure he had Liam's full attention. Liam remembers staring into eyes so dark and feverish and yet so dull and unfeeling like his brother had died too.

Liam thinks that he lost two brothers that night. And he blames Paul for continuing to force him to keep it a secret, for letting him flounder and struggle when he thought he might burst at the seams from the volume of it all, for not correcting Michelle when she cursed the father of her child and removed all of his pictures. He blames Paul for being behind the wheel, for drinking too much yet again and killing their best friend and for giving him a mild concussion and two fractured ribs.

Sometimes he hates Paul even more that he loves and idolises him. Sometimes Liam is so desperate to find a release from that memory that he has to drink or fuck it into oblivion because it is his only option, the only thing keeping him sane. Because his brother never showed him any other way.

And he knows that he should spend more time looking after his kid sister who was still too young to be alone with a kid of her own. But he still feels like a child himself with an overprotective mother and a co-dependency with his controlling big brother. Sometimes it is like she is separate from him till she looks up at him with those big pain filled eyes and he can't help but wish she didn't exist. Liam loves his sister he really does but he could not comprehend the depth of the way he had hurt her already, he had never thought he was capable of such evil deceit.

He is a fucking mess and so when he wakes up alone after yet another dream he knows he will gone insane unless he drinks himself into unconsciousness. So he groans as he scratches his stubble coated cheek, doesn't bother to try and make sense of the mess of his hair and brushes his teeth against the growing nausea.

Liam pulls on dirty jeans over his boxers and an uncharacteristically dark and plain t shirt, slings a mood fitting leather jacket over his arm and walks in the direction of the nearest and dodgiest bar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you very much for the kind reviews, they really mean a lot to me. I'm trying to write this quickly because I may be very busy as from next week but this story just keeps getting away from me and getting longer. So this is not quiet where this chapter was going to end but rating has gone up anyway because of sexual imagery and a hell of a lot of swearing. And I'm going on but I just hope you enjoy reading because I enjoyed writing.**

* * *

Naturally he finds her in the second crappy bar he stumbles upon having left the first quickly to avoid the stifling melancholy that came with boredom. Liam needed to hold on to the ferocity of his anger, for once he did not want to give in, fall asleep after a few pints and let it pass into nothing. Just to see his brother's usual smug face the next day and he would never know because once again Liam had not done a thing.

It's not so perfect that he discovers her right away waiting for him. She's tucked away and on her own mission and he likes how she always makes him work for everything and yet it always felt so effortless with her. It's only when he makes his way back from the bathroom, all the beer rushing through him till he can't seem to stop pissing, that he catches sight of familiar long hair and slender shoulders. He recognises her back without question even with her lazily slumped posture she carries an energy that had always been so uniquely her.

Liam remembers that Paul was meant to be taking her out as an apology for working through yet another missed anniversary. Maybe his brother cancelled on his wife because he is suffering too and a little vicious part of Liam hopes it is true. For a moment he considers finding another dark corner or another bar altogether. Somewhere he could drink and pick up a nameless girl without interference from the family he was trying to forget.

She was at the bar with her back turned to him, it would be a pain free getaway and yet he found himself drawn towards his sister in law. Even from a distance there was a synergy with her energy. Even if she could never know she was the only one he thought might understand, the only one who knew _that _side of his brother. She wouldn't make him feel better and truthfully he did not want that but she could make him feel vindicated, powerful.

And he is already quite drunk and bitter so slumps into the vacant stool next to her. Ignoring the way she glances at him sideways, her chin resting against her hand as an eyebrow inches a little closer towards her hairline. But her surprise was minimal as she sat up straighter and shrugged acceptance as he orders them both another drink. It was time for the hard liquor.

Carla wears the dark well. Her hair thick and falling into gentle waves over her bare shoulders, her strapless dressed looked typically expensive and hugged to her form in all the right places. The dark fabric catching what little light there was and shinning a deceptive dark blue, as overdressed as ever he felt a thrill being the one drinking with her.

Smoke curls around her as the smoking ban was largely ignored making it seem like she belongs and yet he thinks she is extraordinary. He had never been able to get his head around the idea that this woman possibly belonged to his brother. Her passion, her charm, her damn pigheadedness did not seem to match when he kept on seeing hints of stoic darkness in his older sibling.

Liam had danced with her when they had first met. He had been giddy on drink and it being the start of his adult life. His hands had been sweaty on the curve of her waist, her hipbone sharp under the pads of his fingers. She did not feel like a woman who could be possessed.

When he pushes a drink in her direction she rolls her eyes and almost downs all the amber liquid, as if to say it's all fucking typical. Maybe it is, maybe it's all a big fucking cosmic joke.

He winces a little at the bitterness against the back of his throat like he always did at the first shot of straight whiskey. Paul had always tried to teach him about the finesse of the drink and how to best appreciate it. Liam always hated that, how it made him feel belittled and almost humiliated. He appreciated how quickly he could get drunk on the stuff and that was enough for him. He had never bought into that poncy pretentiousness and it had never looked right on his brother.

There didn't seem to be a rush to start a conversation. Carla somehow both unsteadies and grounds him; sometimes she manages both at the same time. She has always been able to handle alcohol a little bit better than him. He mocks her sometimes that it is down to her genes and some kind of bionic liver.

Normally she uses it as a way to gloat that she could literally drink him under the table, once she had admitted she had no choice but to start drinking too young. He had not pushed the subject on that occasion, it wasn't often Carla would willingly give away information on her childhood even though he had seen enough. Perhaps not enough to quite understand at the time, after all he had always been a little childish and naively unthinking, but the older he got the more he understood what she had trusted him with.

And by the amount of empty glasses by her elbow Liam knows she had a head start on him, it probably put them on a more equal footing. He grinned to himself and motioned to the bartender for another round as he wondered how many of those drinks had been bought for her.

That had been something that had once been a silly competition between them; who could charm the most free drinks. Trouble was they often ended up too drunk to judge the results. That game had ended a few years back when Paul had been angry and jealous enough to call his wife childish amongst other things, and caused a massive fight.

Liam had felt so uncomfortable and had done what he always did when they fought; he got as far away as possible and tried not to think about it at all. After all their relationship was not his problem.

"He fucked you over too huh?" She finally asks, swivelling a little on the stool to face him, her knees demurely pressed together in a way that contrasted her drunken state.

It didn't matter that he stares at her with all the finesse of the very intoxicated. Didn't matter that he undresses his sister in law with his eyes, thinks what it would be like to fuck her and thinks it would be payback. That it would be one problem his big brother would really want to deal with head on instead of pretending everything was fine.

He had always avoided thinking of her in terms of sexuality. The idea that his brother fucked her or fucked her over made him want to put his hands over his ears and sing loudly till he could pretend he never entertained the idea. And it wasn't just because she was with his brother; he had plenty of healthy fantasies about the past girlfriends. But there was something about Carla, something intense that makes him a little scared that if he starts to think of her in that way he would never be able to stop. But tonight he delights in the thrill of breaking that instinctive loyalty.

Her tights were thin and the kind with a seam up the back of the leg, the kind that always made him swallow hard and conjure up images of powerfully classic beautiful women in old black and white films. The image was jarring against the acidic vulgarity of his thoughts and yet as it flashed randomly through his mind it seemed perfect for the woman besides him. Her dress was a little too tight for sitting in; the material had risen up to sit a little too high around her slender thighs. He can't un-see it once he notices, can't help but stare. Can't stop himself thinking he would like those silky legs wrapped around his hips or what the soft skin of her thigh would feel like against the roughness of his cheek.

When he drags his face back up to meet her eyes she smirks and bites into her lower lip because of course he has been caught and of course she knows just what he had been thinking. She doesn't seem to mind, if anything she seems to enjoy the growing heavy lust. She seemed confident with it in a way he didn't and it sends a spark of excitement along his sluggish nerves.

"Well." She purrs when he fails to answer.

Her face is perfectly made up and filled with barely contained anger but he finds sadness in her eyes. No matter how crazy and unpredictable she behaves he can always read the truth in the crisp green of her eyes. It had always been the one easy thing about her but he does not want that thought to soften him just yet and quickly pushes away any instinct to try and comfort her. She had no idea how he felt, she had no idea what it was like to have blood on her hands. There was never anyone who would comfort him.

"Does everything have to be about your bastard of a husband?" He mumbles angrily but he has to glance away briefly and knows that she can read his tells.

"Does everything have to be about your bastard of a brother?" She shoots back instantly.

They confirm a lot by saying very little. No matter what role Paul played, big brother or husband they were the only people that saw past that superficial respectability. And he knows that the bloody elephant in the room had hurt her too tonight. She slams back endless amounts of shots and his eyes follow the lean elegant lines of her neck as she leans back to swallow. Watches the way the tendons flex and he wants to touch.

Her hands keep clenching into fists against the sticky surface of the bar, so small and delicate compared to his, and yet he does not doubt the power of her rage or loneliness.

"Wanna talk about it?" He offers clumsily because it almost seems like she is about to boil over with fury and that scares him a little even if he recognises the same darkness within himself. But he knows the deep dirty secret behind his little act of rebellion and he can't comprehend this woman being part of something equally awful.

Her jaw tightens in response and he thinks her eyes grow glassy but in the semi darkness and with his blurred vision it was hard to be sure. Then she's pushing the balls of her palms against her eyes with a little frustrated noise in the back of her throat. When she looks at him again he thinks that she is blinking away a kaleidoscope of colours as well as tears.

"I know you are not that bright Leebugs but the general idea of getting so pissed is that you don't remember enough to talk about it." She snaps and her eyes harden into a glare that just challenges him to try to break her.

But it has the adverse effect and he thinks of squeezing her knee or hugging her. He won't because he doesn't think he can stop touching her even if it starts with their usual perfectly innocent touching.

She chews at her bottom lip and regains a little more self control, "I will not cry for that man tonight." She vows.

Liam can not help but feel relieved. To offer comfort and to break her resolve might be the easiest way into her knickers but he wanted the night to be about him for once. He wanted to be able to implode in the way that was usually his brother's luxury and he did not want to compromise that by making it all about her pain. When he can't sleep through the dreams night after night they hardly feel equal.

He doesn't realise that he is drumming his fingers against the bar till her gaze flickers to them and then back to his face. It takes a long moment of drunken concentration to make himself stop.

"So what about you? I thought your brother was always perfect as is your adorably close clique of a family." Carla flashed a wide grin and winks in a way that tells him she is teasing even as it tells him more about her own insecurities. They both know their complex family has a lot more going on that his mum would like to think. And dwelling on his mother would be even worse than dwelling on his brother.

"It's a fucking secret." He announces and finds himself rolling his eyes as Carla amuses herself pouring the dregs from their drinks into one glass. If she was in a lighter, more mischievous mood he knows that she would have dared him to drink the mixture.

"Oh," She hums as she turned to regard him closely, a smirk playing on her lips. "Aint it always love. So what has he dragged you into this time hey? Another dodgy contract? Joining the army? You aint killed anyone have ya?"

She was joking, it was so obvious and yet for a moment he is beyond ashamed and thinks that he could never bear for this woman to know the truth. Even as she made the truth sound so ridiculous that maybe he could turn around and confess all. Maybe she would finally start treating him like a fucking competent adult if she knew what he was capable off.

But he takes a drink and pushes that chaos away as his vision swims and he finds himself swaying pleasantly in his seat. He laughs cruelly, the sound a lot like machinegun fire and shakes his head. Carla seems pleased at his reaction and he thinks that he can empty out his head when he stares at her.

It is her lips that will be his undoing; he had known it from the very first second they met. That clever mouth of hers that was always ten steps in front of him. He automatically licked at his own dry lips as he focused on her, the faint echo of deep scarlet that still clings to the corners of her mouth, her lipstick having been worn away hours ago. Her pretty little pink tongue darts out to lick instinctively at the leftovers and the pleasant bitterness from the alcohol. He loved the fullness of those lips, how they make him stare and his blood start to flow south. He thinks he would simply pass out to have those moist lips wrapped around his cock as she looked up at him through long, dark eyelashes.

The crudeness of his thoughts made up his own private little buzz and he silently dared her to read his mind and to react. The danger was thrilling and made him feel more alive than he had in months. Paul liked to brag sometimes and Liam had never wanted to punch him so hard. He wondered how his brother would feel if he knew that he had provided just enough little details that Liam could summon up some very nicely detailed fantasies about his sister in law. He hopes that it would piss him off.

"Bored now," She moaned her head dropping to one side as she clicked her neck. Her hair fell over one shoulder leaving the other side of her neck begging to be touched. "Let's get out of here." Her voice low and throaty and he thinks that he would follow her anywhere.

"Do you want to find another bar?" He asked as he reached for the screwed up notes in the bottom of his pocket to pay for their final drinks. He was already sure he knew what she wanted but there was something so delicious about making her spell it out.

She slid off the stool and has to look up at him. She moves to stand close to him and grinds herself against his side, "No take me to some faceless hotel room Liam." She demands and his jaw clenches because the feel of her is his undoing.


	3. Chapter 3

They walk side by side to the closest genetic hotel. The wind had picked up as night fell and the chill stung his overly warm cheeks. They remained silent after leaving the bar; easily matching each others strides as they walked so close their arms brushed.

Liam briefly considered taking her hand but quickly dismissed the sweet gesture. There was something clandestine and rebellious within their practicality. If his brother could see him now, if Paul had any idea what was about to take place. With alcohol making him feel invincible he wanted his brother to see it all, wanted to be the one causing the pain for once. He'd spent his whole damn life in the shadow of his liar of a brother and he was about to step out in a spectacularly cruel fashion.

It almost seemed like the perfect punishment for Paul but he pushed that thought away quickly before it could render him impotent in more ways than one. It would be counter productive to make it all about his bother when he was meant to be escaping. Instead he sneaks glances at Carla like a nervous school boy. He likes the way the shorter pieces of hair around her face refused to stay behind her ear. Later he vowed to brush them gently away from her cheeks.

And then she turns and looks at him with lazily drunken hooded eyes, her teeth grazing her lower lip and suddenly his sweeter thoughts are combined with urges just to shove her into the nearest dark corner and fuck her against the wall. But instinctively he knows that they are more important and he wants to savour every little taste, needed to be able to see her eyes.

He was always amazed at how she could turn his thoughts inside out at such dizzying speeds. Loved the way she challenged him and never slowed down even though at times he found her confusing or even insane. The nights they spent drinking and talking had been some of his best; he found himself surprised that within the sarcasm and dirty jokes it was a self confirming experience. He liked himself around her, only for that same old feeling of futileness to return with his brother's entrance. He hated the way Paul would kiss Carla's forehead as he greeted her with equal measure to how his brother talked of their sex life in such great detail.

Somehow he becomes so lost in his own thoughts that he stumbles when they reach their destination. But Carla's eyes narrow and her hips sway as she approaches the reception and orders them a room. With her strength and the silent promise of what was to come it didn't matter that they were under the knowing scrutiny of the hotel staff.

And then she was turning to face him, room key clenched in her raised fist like a victory. Her heavily made up eyes were hard and dark under the overly bright lights and she was the one achingly real thing in a place that felt like quickly passing fiction. He wanted her so much. Wanted to have and to be what she represented.

She had spent a life time being apologetically defiant and so beautiful in her contradiction of strength and vulnerability than seemed physically impossible. If he could touch her, if he could crawl inside her then maybe he could share her secret. Maybe he could find absolution.


End file.
